For one brief moment, the swamp seemed to hold its breath.
Then Liam disappeared from the branch.
The evolved Gravecoil's three heads snapped toward where he had been—
But he was already gone.
The first lesser Gravecoil died before the others could even react.
A line of flame cut through its throat, and its head separated from its body in a clean, burning arc. Liam appeared behind it only long enough for his foot to touch the branch, then vanished again in another controlled burst.
The second fell.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
He moved faster now.
Not recklessly or wastefully, but with the restraint removed from his intent.
Each burst of flame placed him exactly where he needed to be. Each swing of his dagger ended a life. He no longer cut shallow wounds or avoided unnecessary kills. He struck the soft points with surgical precision, sending fire deep into flesh, burning through tissue before the Gravecoils could defend or retreat.
A Gravecoil lunged from above.
